


A Trip to the Circus

by DrMarthaJones



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-23 11:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14331051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrMarthaJones/pseuds/DrMarthaJones
Summary: Three years after the events of the movie, Phillip's parents visit him at the Circus to try and convince him to come back to respectable society. But instead they get a nasty surprise and meet an unexpected new arrival





	1. Chapter 1

They finally went to see the circus.

            It had been three years since they had seen Phillip – since he had kicked them out of his hospital room in favour of a woman he barely knew. The only contact they had with him now were chance encounters if they were ever at the theatre at the same time, or at some event for a respectable friend’s child, which happened to include one of those two Barnum girls – and that was only glances across the room. Society still talked about Phillip running off from time to time, when other gossip was scarce, and it was still mortifying.

            Agatha Carlyle knew her daughter had some contact with him, and from that, and ridiculously positive reviews of the circus in the paper, sometimes featuring his picture, they knew that he had not died in some ditch somewhere. She wished Eliza would not sully her reputation by contacting him, but at least her husband kept her somewhat in check.

            Seeing him in the flesh was different. While she sat next to her husband Phillip Sr. near the back – there were no good seats in this smoky tent, and they were disgracefully seated between a screaming, snotty baby, and a man who stank to high heaven – both of them somber as they took in the fanciful lights, exotic animals and the freaks parading around on the stage. Agatha wouldn’t try to deny that the audience loved it, or that she herself wasn’t intrigued by some of the dancing and acrobatics, but she was thoroughly offended by all the freaks being practically naked, and their provocative dance moves.

            They knew that Phillip’s…paramour… was the trapeze artist, and she felt her husband tense when their attention was directed to the top of the tent, but the girl didn’t appear. The performers were a large, dark skinned man and a blonde, clearly white woman, who was mediocre at best. Perhaps Phillip’s woman had left the show.

            Phillip appeared at the beginning of the show to introduce the acts, sporadically throughout, when he would address the crowds with confidence and bravado – so different from the humble man he was when he introduced his plays. He danced with the freaks at the end of the show: and Agatha was shocked at his ability. And the patheticness of having a son of hers parading himself with these people on the stage – no, pit of sand – for money. When the crowd stood and roared at the finale, she and Phillip Sr remained seated.

            The crowds jostled them every which way as they all tried to pour out of the tent to the immoral fair that had been set up outside. She glanced at her husband and they slowed, letting the crowd part around them. They were here to talk to Phillip.

            He was wishing the circus-goers farewell – grinning at children, shaking hands with men and women. Phillip Sr called their son’s name as they approached. “Phillip.”

            Phillip turned and went white. Agatha saw his grip on his top hat tighten, saw him gulp, saw him glance behind him at someone in the crowd. He didn’t come to them, but waited for them to approach him, with his back to the ring. They stood before him, letting the crowds flow out of the tent around their little family. Their little, _broken_ family, thanks to him.

            Phillip spoke first. “Mother, Father. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said coldly. He stared directly between them, without meeting either of their eyes. What had happened to the little boy who would do anything to please her?

            “We’ve come to see your circus; to see what all the fuss is about. I can’t say I’m impressed,” Phillip Sr said.

            “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Phillip said.

            “Your plays were intelligent, respectable…this is…” Agatha said, but she really didn’t have the words to describe what she was trying to say.

            “They were regurgitated moral dribble,” Phillip said. “Listen, unless you’ve come here to apologize to me, I have quite a few things to take care of.” That biting wit was familiar, but to hear it directed at them was shocking.

            “How dare you speak to us in this manner,” Phillip Sr said brusquely. “I still expect respect from you, boy. We raised you.”

            Phillip held out his hands and gave a smirk. “Well you didn’t do a very good job, clearly. I’ve run off and joined the circus,” Phillip flipped his hat onto his head and turned to walk away.

            “Well, we want you to come back,” Agatha said quickly. This is why they had come all the way down here, braving the seedy part of town, after all.

            Phillip slowly turned back to her. He had never been cruel to them; careless with their reputations, stupid, selfish to think of himself above their family and good name, even rude, but she always told people he was never cruel.

            “Mother,” he said softly, looking at her properly – and she missed her little boy’s face. “I don’t want that.”

            “We’ve discussed it. We’re willing to reinstate your entire fortune, and all will be forgiven,” Phillip Sr said.

            Phillip raised incredulous eyebrows at his father. “I’m sorry, but you think you get to forgive _me_?”

            “We thought maybe you wanted to come back to real life, but thought you wouldn’t be welcome,” Agatha pleaded.

            “Sam is a good boy, son, but he hasn’t got a brain in his head. The family, the company, needs you to take over when I’m gone.”

            Phillip stared incredulously at the two of them. “Listen. I am not opposed to having a relationship with you – I know Mrs. Barnum says she is much happier since reconnecting with her mother after the eviction. But I have a life here, and happiness. I have no interest in the life you want for me.” He turned to his father. “And Sam is very clever, he just doesn’t use his brain the way _you_ want him too.”

            He went to turn away again, and Agatha found herself reaching out and grabbing his arm. He spun back to her.

            “We didn’t see your…your trapeze artist today…if that infatuation has passed…” Agatha said hopefully.

            “You still have prospects at home,” Phillip Sr finished for her. “Not as good as before, certainly, but we have been talking to a few up and coming families who are interested.”

            Phillip laughed humourlessly. “The infatuation has not ended. Not by a long shot.” He turned back to the nearly empty bleachers and Agatha followed his gaze – and she saw a girl peel herself away from the thinning crowds and rush to the centre of the ring – heavy, curly hair bouncing behind her, overladen with shawls. She ran to the centre of the ring where some performers were still celebrating, and was immediately embraced and surrounded by that bearded woman, the weird looking albino dancers and some other women. This must be her. None of them had yet noticed them talking to Phillip.

            “She is…not performing at the moment,” Phillip said.

            “Phillip, this is not acceptable,” her husband said gruffly. “I am all for young boys sowing their wild oats, but you are no young boy, and some oats are too wild,” Phillip Sr said, and Agatha felt he should generally try to avoid metaphors.

            “Father, when did you ever know me to sow wild oats?” Phillip said in exasperation, running his hands through his hair. “It doesn’t seem like you’d welcome her with open arms, and as I’m not leaving her, our discussion seems to be over.”

            “So keep her as a mistress, for all I care,” Phillip Sr said, getting frustrated. “Enough men do, though most choose theirs with more discretion. You could still run the business.”

            “Father,” Phillip started, but they were interrupted when Agatha gasped. She reached out and clutched her husband’s arm, like she needed protection. It was as if someone had smacked her in the face with a frying pan.

            “She had your child?”

            Agatha was watching the girl – this seductress who had stolen her son – as the female performers crowded her and chatted. She had turned to the side, arm outstretched, to greet the white trapeze artist who was approaching from backstage, followed by her partner. And when she did so, Agatha saw the little bundle that was tied with a shawl against her breast. It was into this bundle that all the crowded women were peering.

            “ _Is_ that your child?” Agatha managed to choke out.

            “Yes, mother, it is,” Phillip said, his voice swelling with pride.

            Agatha looked at her husband for help. His eyes were practically popping out of his head with rage. “A bastard, Phillip? A _mulatto_ bastard?” he stammered.

            “What about ‘congratulations on becoming a father, Phillip? What is our grandchild’s name?’” Phillip snapped.

            Agatha was still watching the woman. She peered into the bundle of shawls, adjusting them slightly; laughed at something that was said to her.

            “How can you have been so careless as to bring this shame upon our family,” Phillip Sr growled.

            “I’m not ashamed,” Phillip said.

            “A bastard, in this family.”

            “My daughter is not a bastard. Anne is my wife,” Phillip said, drawing himself up even taller, with pride.

            Phillip Sr had simply lost the ability to speak in anger, and simply strode forward gruffly, as if to get a look at the child. Swiftly, gracefully, Phillip took two firm steps backwards and blocked his father’s path. He was not a big man, not even as big as his father, but he stood tall, almost as if he was radiating power. Agatha was almost surprised to see an adult man standing before her, not a little boy.

            Agatha felt eyes on her and saw that the black trapeze artist had noticed them. He glared magnificently and put a hand on _her_ shoulder.

            “You have some nerve, boy, blocking my way,” Phillip growled into their son’s face, although Agatha could see her husband could see Phillip was no boy.

            “I have every right to protect my wife and child, and you know it,” Phillip said, firmly and quietly. “You will not go over there just to abuse and insult her.”

            It was the second time he had said it. “She can’t be your wife. It’s impossible,” Agatha said, almost pleading him to see some sense. Phillip looked at her with his round blue eyes that matched her own. His voice was as pleading as hers was.

            “She is my wife in the eyes of God.”

            “God would never sanction…” Agatha said, but her husband went another direction.

            “So, not legally then? Then it’s a bastard and it’s not getting a dollar of my money, I hope you realise,” he said.

            “Oh please,” Phillip scoffed, finally getting worked up. “I don’t’ want one penny of your dirty money near her; I know grandfather made his fortune in the south. Besides,” he threw his arms wide, gesturing at the enormous tent, at the bleachers which had been packed moments before. “Look around. She doesn’t need it.”

            Her husband and Phillip glared at each other, neither one even blinking, so it seemed. Phillip’s outburst had finally attracted the attention of the performers and that woman.

            She turned, her jaw dropping at the sight of them, her arms going up to hold her baby. The man had a firm arm around her shoulders. All the performers were staring at them warily, like soldiers waiting to spring to Phillip’s defense.

            “Agatha,” Phillip Sr said finally. So he was the first to crack. After all this, Agatha supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. “It seems this situation is not salvageable. A shame. But let’s not waste our time.”

            “It’s still salvageable,” Agatha said, her voice strained. She wasn’t going to give up Phillip so easily this time. “You are a good man, Phillip, we aren’t doubting that.” Phillip’s face softened at that, he turned, listening to what she had to say. “I know you won’t abandon your flesh and blood, so…We would allow you to send them money. Keep a roof over their heads, your child won’t starve. There is some honour in that, if anyone were to find out.”

            Phillip burst out in a loud, scary, mirthless bark of a laugh then. All the performers were listening now, and she saw them bristle at her suggestion. She had thought it reasonable. Generous, even.

            “Would you allow that, Mother, how generous of you. I’m glad you don’t want your granddaughter to starve.” Phillip spat. Granddaughter. And Agatha had no idea she was someone's grandmother. “I can tell you Anne is more than capable of keeping our child fed, even if my half of all of this didn’t belong to them anyway.”

            There was a tense silence. Then, a distressed wail broke the silence. Perhaps disturbed by Phillip’s frightening laugh, or because it could sense its Mother’s distress, perhaps simply because it had woken and was hungry, but the cry echoed through the tent. The sound of Phillip’s _little baby._ Her grandchild. Its cries were just like that of her own children. Strangely, Agatha realized, she had somehow expected there to be a difference.

            It’s mother’s soothing shushing noises followed the cries through the tent. She bounced side to side. Phillip turned around worriedly at the sound and Agatha saw him lock eyes with his…well, the woman he chose to call his wife. And why, when he could have had any desirable woman in New York, she didn’t think she would ever understand. She seemed to steel herself, looking at him.

            Nobody seemed more disturbed by the child’s cries, quieting now, then her husband. His eyes had gone wide, and Agatha could see his jaw clenching.

            That woman and Phillip were still staring at each other, seeming to be having a conversation. With the child hiccoughing itself into tranquility, she started to wander towards them, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Agatha had never seen a woman like her behave so brazenly.

            Phillip turned back to them when she reached them, and she took his hand. She saw her son let out a breath as she did. Her other arm was wrapped around her baby, still hidden from view in shawls, and Agatha saw a plain gold wedding band on her finger.

            Phillip Sr had seen it to. Agatha wasn’t sure if that was the last straw, or having a black woman stand before them and look them calmly in the eye as if she had any _right_ , as if she owned the place…which according to Phillip, she did. Phillip Sr made a choking sound before managing to get out: “I’m not going to spend another moment in this company,” he said gruffly, not meeting the woman’s eyes. He turned without another word to his son and marched out of the tent. He obviously expected Agatha to follow him, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the little bundle against the woman’s breast. It was wriggling and emitting little cooing noises. An arm waved above the blankets. This might be her only chance.

            Phillip looked more relaxed now, the woman he called his wife by his side. He looked at her as if he expected her to follow his father, but he followed her eyes to the child.

            Agatha wet her lips before she spoke. “Miss…” she trailed off, if she had even known this girl’s name, she had long forgotten it.

            “suss Carlyle,” the woman spoke, her voice southern and slightly deep. Mrs. Carlyle was about to get offended at the fairly informal address from this girl, when: “Anne Carlyle.” Agatha froze. She realized, with a jolt, that Anne wasn’t addressing her, but introducing herself. She was going around calling herself Mrs. Carlyle. But she couldn’t say anything to insult this woman, in case she carried off the child.

            “Mrs. Carlyle,” Agatha said, with difficulty, and what she hoped was a courteous nod. “Phillip, if I have a …that is, if you have a child, I want to meet it.” She said, with as much pride as she could muster.

            Phillip looked at her with that taken aback surprised look, affronted look that she was so used to. That wasn’t a request he was expecting, and Agatha knew nothing good could come of this. Whatever she felt or didn’t feel at the sight of the child, would surely haunt her.

            Phillip looked at his…wife and she nodded encouragingly. So he stepped forward and pulled his baby out of the shawls and into his arms.

            He knew how to hold the child, tight against his chest, supporting its head, rocking gently to settle the little mews it gave at the sudden change. Agatha was surprised. Her husband had barely held any of their children for longer than ten minutes for their entire babyhoods. But Phillip looked comfortable, in fact he gazed down at the child with such an expression of love that she almost didn’t want to look. Phillip stepped toward her so she could see the child, his face open and vulnerable, wondering what she will say. Agatha peered at the baby in her son’s arms.

            The baby was nearly as dark as her mother. She had a tuft of fuzzy black hair covering her head. She wriggled and gurgled in Phillip’s arms, drooling onto her chin, and she stared at Agatha with familiar blue eyes.

            “She’s….” Agatha breathed, although she didn’t know what to say.

            “Her name is Louisa Marie Carlyle,” Phillip said cautiously, as if scared of what she would say. Funny, he certainly didn’t act like he cared what she thought. She felt so close to…something, that she didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and perhaps he felt it too.

            “How old is she?” Agatha asked. A safe question.

            “Two months,” Phillip said, affection thick in his voice. He looked down at his daughter, not at her. Anne stood back from them, watching cautiously. Hands clasped at her chest.

            Two whole months, this child had been in the world. Phillip had been walking around, learning to be a father, and she known nothing of it.

            “Has she been…can she be christened?” Agatha asked. She couldn’t imagine that any pastor would welcome this child into the church.

            “Of course she’ll be christened. This Sunday, actually,” Phillip licked his lips. “Eliza will be there,” he said slowly.

            Agatha was floored. Her head whipped up, away from the child. “Eliza knows about this?” She knew Eliza wrote to Phillip, of course, her husband couldn’t stop her doing that, so of course she must know. But she had betrayed nothing; they never spoke of Phillip.

            “Yes, she’s Louisa’s godmother. And Anne’s brother is her godfather. Phillip looked at her. “Don’t tell father. I wouldn’t want Eliza to suffer.”

            Agatha was not in the habit of keeping secrets from her husband, but she knew she would not tell him this. If he knew, Eliza would suffer.

            “So…Eliza has met her, then?” Agatha asked.

            Phillip shook his head. “She will this Sunday. I’m excited to introduce her to Louisa.”

            “Godmother,” Agatha breathed. “Does that mean, should anything happen to you, god forbid,” Agatha said. Her perception of the world Phillip had chosen was one of disease and violence, danger lurking around every corner. Once already he had nearly died. And the child’s mother risked her life for a living. “Would Eliza have to look after her. I know you have not met her husband, but he is not the kind of man – he prizes propriety, honour…” Agatha could not imagine how mortifying it would be if this child were brought into their circle.

            “Calm down, Mother,” Phillip said his voice hard. Oh, she had said the wrong thing, she had offended him now. She really had been trying. How could he expect her to accept this child readily, as if this whole situation was normal? “I don’t want her anywhere near your world. There’s no happiness there. And I don’t want anyone near my daughter who won’t respect her, or who will make her feel worthless,” Phillip spat.    

            “But…” the woman, his wife, Anne, spoke up. “We can only protect her by teaching her to see her own worth, remember. We can’t shield her from everyone.” She raised her eyebrows at Phillip.

            Then Phillip gave his wife a look that Agatha knew so well because her husband always gave it to her. It was a look that said, ‘my dear, why are you always right?’

            “In any event, if anything happened to Anne and me, W.D. would look after Louisa. She couldn’t have a better guardian,” Phillip said.

            Phillip gestured with his head back to the group of circus acts still standing in the ring, all glaring directly at her, all looking ready to spring, but none looking more ready to spring into action then the man she identified as Anne Carlyle’s brother; he must be the trapeze artist. Agatha gulped. His face was passive, but also, somehow, warning her. He didn’t look particularly nurturing.

            Her face must have betrayed her unease, because Phillip turned back to give the man a smile, then chuckled.

            “Don’t mind him, Mother, W. D. is nothing if not a protective brother, and I am his brother now.” He shared an amused glance with his wife, who shook her head and rolled her eyes. Agatha found this less amusing. Phillip did not need protection from her. She was his mother, and she should have protected him from all of this.  

            And yet…she couldn’t remember seeing Phillip as genuinely happy as he had seemed on that stage…or now, as he held his daughter.

            Agatha allowed herself a moment to watch him cradle her, his body still swaying gently, her head in the crook of his elbow. His wife watched them both, love on her face. Her son was a father. There was no denying that if Phillip had done everything the right way, he wouldn’t get to cuddle his child like this; it wasn’t done. And she was so calm and content with him; Agatha could hear her – Louisa – gurgling happily.

            Agatha felt a welling in her chest. No one could blame her for that, children were infectious. She reached out and brushed her granddaughter’s head with the back of her fingers. Her hair was nothing like the wisps of her own children’s, it was fuzzy. Agatha smiled.

            The baby cried. Her face scrunched up and reddened, her body tensed up as she screamed. Immediately, swiftly, Phillip stepped back, taking the child out of her reach. It was because she was a stranger, babies didn’t like strangers.

            Phillip was murmuring to her. He held the baby under her arms and held her tiny body up to his lips, planting kisses all over her face. She was so tiny Phillip’s hands covered her entire back. Agatha remembered when her children were that small.

            “Oh, Lou-Lou,” Phillip cooed to her. “It’s okay, Daddy’s here.” He rested her against her shoulder, his cheek against her head, hand against her back, and bounced.

            “I’m –” Agatha started, about to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ before catching herself, because that wasn’t done. Babies cry all the time.

            “I know, I know, life is so hard, Lou-Lou,” Phillip continued to comfort her, rubbing his daughter’s back.

            “It’s because I touched her,” Agatha said, by way of an apology. “I startled her.”

            Phillip didn’t bother to look at her. “It’s probably because she’s hungry,” he said, giving a nod to Anne, who was already coming forward, arms outstretched. Phillip handed the squealing baby over, with one last kiss to her distraught forehead, and the woman held her close.

            She looked up at Agatha, deliberately meeting her eye. “It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Carlyle,” she said lightly, and then she carried off the child. Agatha was not stupid, she knew the woman didn’t mean it, and was a bit offended at being sassed.

            She and Phillip both watched her walk away. She took a seat in the first row of the bleachers and was immediately flocked by the women of the circus. Gossiping, no doubt. Between them, Agatha could see the woman undoing the ties at the front of her dress, holding Louisa up to her breast, and soon with some nudging and coaxing, her cries stopped.

            It was strange. If things had been done properly, a woman not unlike Anne Carlyle would probably be nursing Agatha’s grandchild anyway – Eliza would hire a wet nurse from Anne’s class, when her time came – so Agatha wasn’t sure why the sight should give her such a visceral reaction. But it did. It wasn’t right, a child with Carlyle blood running through its veins, a child of Phillip’s, a great grandchild of her esteemed and well-respected father, nursing at the breast of a likely runaway slave, a woman from nothing, a nobody who came from this dirty, diseased broken place. It wasn’t right. Agatha wanted to protect her grandchild from this world.

            She turned back to Philip, decision made, heart racing. “The love you feel for her, Phillip, is the love I feel for you,” she said. He had to understand that.

            Phillip cocked an eyebrow at her.

            “I have serious trouble believing that, Mother. Louisa could literally murder someone, and I would welcome her home with open arms. All I did was fall in love; first with the circus, and then with Anne, and you want nothing to do with me.”

            “That’s not fair. I’m here, trying to bring you home. But the world is meant to be a certain way – “

            “Our world is perfectly fine ignoring all your rules, and it hasn’t imploded yet,” Phillip said. He turned to walk away, towards the daughter he would never leave behind, the child who had tickled Agatha’s heart in so short an amount of time. She had to try once more to get her son back.

            “Bring her with you, then bring her home,” Agatha said, hands clasped hopefully.

            Phillip turned back in shock, his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide. Behind his shock was a flicker of hope.

            “Bring your daughter, bring Louisa. People have always gossiped about you, and men do have bastards. Your father won’t like it, but he will come around. It wouldn’t be so bad,” Agatha couldn’t believe she was suggesting something so scandalous. Her friends would never be seen at their house, they would lose invitations, but no one could deny that Carlyle was a good name, no scandal was bad enough to tarnish that, how could they not have seen this before?

            Phillip had shut his mouth with a snap, his face becoming closed off.

            “My daughter is _not_ a bastard. You’re saying you want me to leave my wife?” Phillip said coldly. “How do you suggest I manage, that? Never mind that Louisa will literally starve without her –" Phillip’s voice rose to a yell.

            “We can hire someone – "

            “But _I_ will starve without her, I will drown without her, I love her more than I can put into words.”

            “Phillip –”

            “You don’t see a person when you look at her – just a problem, or something that can be forgotten, on a vessel that can give you a grandchild and then be thrown away.” Phillip shook his head. “I won’t let you hurt either of them. If that means I can never see you again, then so be it. When you can respect my _entire_ family, you know where to find me,” Phillip said. With one last sad glance at her, he turned and walked away.

            He strode across the tent, to where his wife was nursing their daughter. The man -  Louisa’s godfather, and Anne’s brother – had been watching them closely and now peeled himself away from the group and approached Phillip.

            He reached out and clapped Phillip on the back and Agatha jumped, not sure what the man would do next, but she could hear their voices across the echoey tent.

            “Everything alright, man? You know we’re here for you.”

            “Thanks, brother,” Phillip said. “I’m fine, I just …didn’t expect to have this conversation today.”  The man squeezed Philip’s shoulder and the pair walked together back to the group of circus performers.

            Anne looked up when Phillip reached her side, though her back was still to Agatha. They must have exchanged words, but Agatha could no longer hear them. As she sat nursing, and he stood, Phillip hugged her to his side, then leaned down and kissed her hair. He bent over, presumably to coo at his daughter, and Agatha took her leave.

            Her son had made his choice, and there was nothing she could do to change it. The realization hit Agatha for the first time in three years: her son was gone forever. She couldn’t watch this, so she turned her back and walked away from her son.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha attends Louisa's christening, although she isn't sure why she's bothering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was meant to be a one-shot, but the story just kept going and this part basically wrote itself! Plus I didn't like leaving it on such a sad note, so...here we go

The little church was nestled in the heart of the noisy, bustling dockland. Dwarfed by enormous warehouses and factories on all sides, the tiny white-washed building occupied the only bit of greenspace Agatha had seen down here. A flat patch of dying grass enclosed by a fence surrounded the church, and its glass windows probably never saw the sun, due to the shadows cast by the surrounding buildings. Still, she could hear the sounds of singing coming from within.

            Agatha passed through the rickety gate, eyeing the wooden tables that were set up in the yard for celebration. She hesitated briefly outside the wooden door.

            She had gotten the details out of Eliza. She hadn’t wanted to ask directly, so she asked if Eliza thought Phillip still attended church – although it was less important without being seen by the right people while there – and where he might go. She wasn’t sure if Eliza had figured out what she was trying to do, which was good, as Agatha hadn’t made up her mind that she was going to attend until she had stepped off the tram.

            Even now she hesitated, but the sounds of the singing pulled her in. She pushed open the door and scampered into a seat in the last pew of the church.

            It was the plainest church she had ever seen: the walls were plain white, the windows were clear, though grimy, glass and a simple wooden cross was hung behind the pulpit. A Black priest was leading the service. Most of the church’s inhabitants were not white: the inhabitants of the docklands mostly were not, and it made Agatha nervous, even though this was God’s house. The only ones who _were_ were clearly members of the circus: Agatha spotted that bearded woman right in front, leading the singing. She spotted the Barnums, the fancy clothes they wore disgracefully above their station – or what should be their station. The little girls sat beside their parents, and Agatha could see the younger one had a doll with a floppy wooden head tied against her chest with a scarf, clearly copying the way she had seen Philip’s lover carrying her child. Was this the place where – according to him – she had become his wife?

            She also spotted Eliza with her hat pinned beautifully, sitting up front and singing away fervently. Beside her sat Sam, Agatha’s youngest son, now a teenager, stuffed into his best suit – which made him stand out amongst this clean, but plainly dressed crowd. This did not surprise Agatha: Eliza had shown up at the house this morning under the pretext of taking Sam to lunch. Phillip Sr. had not questioned this, even though Phillip had told them his daughter was due to be baptized today. Her husband simply didn’t see what he didn’t want to see sometimes.

            Eliza was sitting next to Phillip, who was seated next to his wife. Agatha’s stomach lurched: she wasn’t sure she wanted Phillip to spot her; wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing here in the first place. He seemed to be holding his daughter as he sang, though Agatha couldn’t see the child from here. The singing ceased, the pastor was calling for the godparents now: Agatha had got here just in time. Eliza stood, grinning from ear to ear, as if this were just a regular baptism, as if there were no shame in becoming the godmother of this child. It was Anne’s brother who took the child from Phillip; he was wearing a brown suit and purple tie, and he held the child more delicately than Agatha would have assumed he could know how. She – Louisa – was dressed in a simple white christening gown and was fast asleep. Agatha mourned – she expected her first grandchild to be baptized in the gown worn by her own three children – she even had it ready – but she supposed it would have to wait for Eliza’s children, her _proper_ grandchildren.

The contrast between her own children’s christenings was so stark as to be laughable. This tiny, once white-washed, but now mostly grey, church,  with its most impressive feature the groaning beams of the rafters, looked like a hut compared to the vaulted, ornately carved ceiling beneath which her own children were christened. Sunlight had streamed through stained glass windows: the plain windows here were always in shadow of the tall buildings outside. A collection of freaks and nobodies, outcasts, watched this ceremony, not a respectable society member in sight. And still, they went through with it.    

            Agatha almost felt angry with Phillip, for not taking her up on her offer, not taking Louisa out of this place when she had given him the chance: she could never have everything, she would always be a disgrace, but she could have more: better clothes, cleaner air, nicer food. Why would he refuse?

            Eliza and that man stood together over the font while the pastor prayed over them all. It was Eliza who took the cup and, as the man held Louisa carefully over the font, she shielded her face and carefully dripped the holy water over her head.

            The child woke with an angry shout and, quite predictably, started screeching, as the congregation chuckled. The man held her close and rocked, trying to soothe her. Agatha watched her daughter wipe the excess water from the child’s hair and lean down and whisper, “All done, all done!” She seemed so enamoured of the child, and as she had accepted the role of godmother Agatha supposed she intended to keep a relationship with her: Agatha could only worry about how this would affect Eliza’s reputation if people found out.

            Anne jumped up then and took the child back to comfort her. Agatha got her first proper look at the woman. Her Sunday best was disappointing: a simple navy-blue dress, without a frill or a sequin in sight; an embarrassment to Agatha, as a woman’s clothes are a mark of her husband’s status and what sort of clothes he could buy her. Anne smiled thankfully at Eliza: the two seemed familiar with each other. Agatha knew she was missing out on Phillip’s life, but how much of Eliza’s life had she been missing too, how much did her daughter hide from her?

            The service concluded, the congregation was stirring, readying to make their way to the depressing yard outside for a celebration.

            Agatha stood and rushed out, before anyone could spot her, not sure what she could say to Phillip if he saw her. What else did they have to say to each other? He was so angry when they parted a few days ago. What reason could she give for coming here today? That she wanted to see her granddaughter baptized, that she wanted to see him interact with the circus, to check that he was truly happy?

            Still, half way across the square, something made Agatha stop and turn back. Maybe it was the joy that was pouring out of the church and into the yard: the happy chatter, the sounds of congratulations directed at her son, the laughter despite the glum surroundings. Something made Agatha turn and watch.

            The whole of the circus, and many of the other congregants too, had crammed themselves into the yard. Bottles of beer were being passed around, picnic baskets of sandwiches and cookies were opened. Agatha spotted Phillip with Anne. They stood side by side, Phillip with his arm around Anne, who was holding Louisa – calm now, and fidgeting in her mother’s arms. They were surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers. Agatha couldn’t believe there were this many people in the world – let alone in one little church – who were willing to look past the child’s embarrassing parentage and celebrate her instead. As she watched, Phillip, in a break between well-wishers, leaned over and pressed a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. He was beaming as he spoke to her. He raised her little feet, draped in the plain christening robe, and kissed them. He tickled her fat cheeks.

            Elsewhere in the yard, Eliza was chatting merrily with her fellow god-parent. They both seemed hesitant but determined to make conversation. Eliza tossed her head and said something in her characteristically Eliza way and the man’s whole body shook as he laughed.

            In yet another corner, Sam had been dragged into a game with those two Barnum girls. The little girl had untied her pathetic-looking doll. The elder one handed Sam a cup of water while she held the doll out. With sharp instructions from the older girl, Sam unceremoniously dumped the entire cup of water over the doll’s limp face and joined them as they solemnly bowed their heads in prayer.

            She should leave. She had seen what she came to see and there was nothing left for her here. The sight she was leaving behind made her throat tighten: sunlight streaming through the smoky air illuminating the chattering party, which was so crowded that it was spilling out of the Churchyard into the cobbled square. Passing workmen, strangers as far as Agatha could tell, stopped and chatted and were handed sandwiches before hurrying along. Phillip himself had his suit jacket off – making him look disheveled and unrefined, no matter how comfortable he might be – and he pressed a kiss to his wife’s temple. The woman smiled at the action, but then she locked eyes with Agatha.

            Agatha panicked. She was the intruder here; she should go. She had been brought up to know how to avoid a scene.

            Apparently the same could not be said of this Anne. She turned to Phillip and handed over the baby – he took her enthusiastically, pulling faces at her and planting playful kisses on her face as he accepted her – and started for the gate of the churchyard. Phillip was too distracted with his daughter to notice his wife stalking toward her.  

            Agatha seriously considered turning and high tailing it out of there. What did the woman want with her? Agatha did not need another tongue lashing like the one she got the other day. Too late, the woman had left the churchyard and was approaching her.

            “Mrs. Carlyle,” she said in her Southern drawl. It was a greeting, delivered calmly, confidently. The woman held her head high, hair immodestly loose and flowing over her neck – wasn’t she supposed to be married? Married women did not walk around with their hair loose. Agatha noticed the woman was deliberately looking her in the eye, and Agatha was the one who wanted to look away.

            “Mrs. Carlyle,” Agatha answered, and she surprised herself. She didn’t want anything from the girl this time, why use the stolen name the woman had taken for herself? She was not her son’s wife, not really: they were just living in sin.

            “It’s nice to see you here,” the woman continued, leaning slightly forward, no trace of a smile on her face, and Agatha was sure the woman was trying to convince her that this time, she meant it.

            Agatha took a breath, not sure whether or not to believe her.

            “Why don’t you come join us?” Anne continued.

            Agatha frowned. What was this woman trying to accomplish here?

            “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” Agatha said, sticking her nose in the air. She didn’t stand around amongst smog and crowds to eat slightly stale finger sandwiches and drink beer. She was accustomed to more refined celebrations.

            “After all, you’ve come all the way down here,” Anne continued. She had her hands clasped in front of her, down at her waist.

            That was true. The journey to Phillip’s world was quite a trek.

            “What is a christening without a grandmother?” Anne said with a smile. So, she had come to gloat, to rub the fact that she had borne Agatha’s grandchild in her face? Was she proud of having carried a white man’s child? Did it make her feel somehow superior? What was that grin about? Agatha could feel the heat rising to her face in anger.

            “After all, my own mother couldn’t be here,” the woman continued, her smile turning wistful.

            Agatha swallowed her anger. She didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.

            She had spared this woman’s story so little thought. Before she walked into Phillip’s life, and stole him from theirs, who had she been? Was her mother dead, or left behind somewhere? Come to think of it, she knew nothing of this woman. How did she learn trapeze? Did she like it, or was it just money? What kind of mother was she? Agatha looked the woman over, in her simple, blue dress. Her clasped hands were fidgeting, almost as if she were nervous, although her serene, almost determined face betrayed nothing. Her dark brown eyes were flashing. What must this woman be like to have convinced Phillip to give up his wonderful life? Agatha was suddenly curious. The woman spoke and brought Agatha from her reverie.

            “Besides, you didn’t come down here for nothing, I assume?” Anne cocked her head to one side, then looked back into the churchyard. Agatha followed her gaze but knew where it would land. On Phillip.

            He was holding Louisa with her back against his chest and his arm under her legs, so she was sitting up. Her little head was resting against Phillip’s chest, and she looked at the shapes and colours swirling around her with wide eyes and a look of mild confusion. Her little arms and legs flapped. Phillip appeared to be chattering in her ear, pointing people out to her and talking about her surroundings.

            As they watched, Phillip leaned down and pressed a kiss onto the top of her head. Louisa scrunched up her little eyes and her arms shot out and wiggled, but otherwise she paid her father no mind. Agatha saw Phillip inhale deeply, breathing in his daughter’s scent. The sight made her heart constrict. Her son. She was watching him enjoy being a father, loving his daughter. Why couldn’t he have let it be easy for them? But Phillip had never been an easy child.

            Wasn’t it every Mother’s right to watch her child become a parent. And he seemed so good at it.

            “Why not stay for one drink, Mrs. Carlyle?” Anne spoke again.

            Agatha couldn’t tear her eyes from Phillip and his daughter. Her granddaughter. She supposed she stayed silent for a beat too long because she heard Anne mutter ‘right,’ and turn to leave.

            Before she knew what was happening, Agatha spoke. “Perhaps just one drink.”


End file.
